Second Chances
by catsinthetardis
Summary: mobster!au, john arranges to get shot in afghanistan after his sister is assassinated and meets moriarty through the mob
1. Chapter 1

It started with a phone call. John H. Watson was sitting in his tent, relaxing as much as he could before a new group of soldiers crawled in to be patched up. A shaky voice at the other end of the line said "I-Is this John Watson?"

"How did you get this number." The voice trembled. "Y-Your sister, Harry, has been killed. She told me before she died to bring you back to London." John stared blankly at the far side of the tent. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, he slowly hunched forward, letting out a sigh. It had been only a matter of time with his sister, she was always too drunk to take security seriously. "Expect me within two weeks. What's your name?" The voice sounded relieved. "She wasn't sure you'd come back. My name's Adam Harrison. I'll be waiting, she said you could find me."

John hung up and hid the phone away. It was rather fortunate he'd been back at the tent when Harrison had called, he could have as easily been out on a field mission. He was disappointed to leave, he'd formed several close friendships and enjoyed the constant rush of adrenaline. But he also wanted to return to London, _his _city. He wonders what might have gone on in the time he's been away. / He'd have to make arrangements to get back soon, but right now there was someone yelling for his help outside. John ran out, grabbing his first aid kit.

Running with the man who'd called him, he was caught up with what was happening.

…..

Returning to his tent, John reflected on the last six hours he'd spent saving some kid who'd got his leg blown off. He needed to get home, but the army would never let such an experienced surgeon go without good reason. John picked up his phone and made a call. The next day on field duty, he waited for the signal, (the jeep in front of his lurched violently to the side as a small mine went off under it, injuring several soldiers). He ran out despite the protests that their medic would get them, and crouched over the nearest wounded. Over the sobbing and gasping of his charge, John heard several shots, and the answering cover fire. He heard/saw the signal as he worked on his patient (two shots from a hidden rifle, the nearest two men drop like sacks of so much meat), and relaxes, remembering his ma telling him if he knows he's about to get shot to relax to minimize muscle tearing.

_**BANG. **__Oh dear God the __**pain**__ it's like nothing he's ever felt or remotely hopes to feel again and he can __**feel**__ the blood leaking out of his shoulder oh why did I think of this I'm going to die in this godforsaken desert….. _

John wakes up in agony, or what he can remember of it. _I must be on the good stuff if I can only feel a twinge. But that might also be because you've been trained to resist torture since you were five Johnny. _ "Oh! Good, you're awake." He groans. "How long have I been out? It feels like I got kicked by a mule and then run over by a lorry." The overworked nurse managed a chuckle at his pathetic attempt at humor. "You've been asleep three days Dr. Watson. They managed to get you out and back to London rather quickly. Luckily, the wound was not fatal, but you'll definitely suffer some nerve damage. You'll be lucky if you can move your left arm at all for the next few days, but the sooner you can move it the sooner you can get it back to full strength. I'm afraid you're days as a surgeon are through though, you simply can't regain all the motor control lost." John smiled tightly, they'd be surprised at what a well-placed bullet wouldn't damage. And he'd hired the best he knew, who happened to be an old friend.

…

If the doctors were surprised at his rapid recovery, they didn't say anything. Leaving the PT area after his last day of constant exercising his muscles, he headed to his temporary lodgings. He pulls out his laptop, and starts checking crime rates and the forums his sister made the organization use. The codes were far too easy to break, he'd get someone on those. Or, just keep them as-is and post fake information on them. Yes, that sounded much better. He'd think of a new code. John sighed as he looked at he crime rates, his sister had really been slipping the past year, it was really no wonder she'd gotten offed. Disappointment was followed with worry. If his sister had gotten killed, what about Harrison? Had he been strong enough to hold the organization in check while John plotted to get back to London?

Only one way to find out. John left a message on the forum, using his old codename 007. His sister had teased him endlessly, but John really liked the Bond movies. Just to spite him, Harry had chosen "Brokenclaw" as her codename. John smiled sadly and hit enter. The message read "guess who's back in the game?".

He left the message board open all night, periodically checking to make sure he hadn't been hacked or anything of the sort. The reply came around midnight, when people usually checked the board. John gave a chuckle. It seemed Harrison had a sense of humor. He can work with that. "Agent 007. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to meet me exactly where I was when I called you. You have three hours." Cracking his knuckles, John grinned and grabbed the burner phone. He did love a challenge, and in the old circle he had gained a bit of a reputation as a hacker. This was as much a test of his identity as and invitation.

He didn't remember Harrison, but he did remember the one person who would still know his old codename. Mitchell. They'd grown up together, mob kids, learning the ropes and sharing marks. The encryption was a small challenge, increasingly less so as it all came rushing back to him. As soon as he was finished and was sure of the coordinates, John grabbed his coat and few personal belongings, shoved them in a messenger bag, and walked out the door of the bedsit. He didn't look back./

John walked into the office building and straight up to the receptionist. "How can I help you today sir?", he said, barely glancing up from the book. "Hi, I have a 4:00 appointment with Mr. Bond." The receptionist finally looked up and addressed John directly. "He's expecting you, go right on up. Third floor, second door to the right." Of course, John already knew where to go, and was walking to the elevator before the man had finished talking.

As he walked into the office, a deep sneering voice spoke from the large swivel chair behind the desk. "Well, if it isn't John Watson, Soldier Extraordinaire."


	2. Chapter 2

John stared at the leather chair as it dramatically turned around, and as soon as he made eye contact with the man sitting in it, they both dissolved into peals of laughter. Once they had their breath back John asked, "Mitchell! How've you been?". "Well enough mate, but you know about the recent happenings. It's a right shame." John shrugged amiably and replied, "Well with Harry being drunk three-quarters of the time, it was only a matter of when someone would take advantage of it. I trust you've kept her passing as quiet as possible?" Mitchell grinned. "I thought you knew me better than that John! Only Harrison and I know that Harry bit it. Everyone else was "tragically killed defending the boss." It's partially true." Several hours of talking and catching up later, John was satisfied that the business was still in order after Harry's death. "Mitchell, is there somewhere I can stay? The pension from the army is pretty pathetic. I left the apartment and I already cleared all the records from the hospital and bedsit. As far as the government knows, Captain John H. Watson died in combat and was flown home." Mitchell just laughed and gave John an address. "That was quick John, but I wouldn't expect anything else from you. And you should know that only I know where it is. Some of the foot soldiers have been growing restless and I've heard rumors they plan to throw a coup." John smiled wolfishly, and Mitchell was reminded exactly how the Watsons had stayed on top of the proverbial food chain. Still smiling, John waved and left the office.

James Moriarty was livid. His best sniper, Sebastian Moran had gone out on a field mission for him last week and hadn't retuned yet. It was a simple hit, it shouldn't have taken him so long. Moriarty had checked plane records and discovered that Moran had taken a plane to Afghanistan. He was just starting to consider sending someone after him when he walked in the door with a duffle bag. Moriarty was secretly pleased that he didn't have to send a spy to watch his second-in-command. Sebby looked tired but pleased with himself, surprising Moriarty. The only time he'd seen Moran smile genuinely was after he'd killed someone. "Why are you so late? It shouldn't have even taken you a day to kill that oaf." Moriarty would have just tortured anyone else, but he trusted Sebby to tell the truth. "It took 30 minutes to get past that guy's security, it was horrible. When I was leaving I got a call for a rush job for an old friend from the army."

Moriarty was surprised, to say the least. Sebastian Moran had been dishonorably discharged after refusing to follow orders to fall back. There had still been an injured soldier in the area, and Moran hadn't wanted to leave him behind. Normally, that would have been reason for commendation, but the commanding officer severely disliked Moran and twisted the story. The soldier had been sent home before giving testimony to the fact Moran had saved him, and the other soldiers in the unit didn't have the courage to contradict the officer. Moran hadn't helped by yelling at the officer and the board that had been assigned to investigate. "Who? I hadn't seen anyone particularly close to you in your unit. And how would you be able to get them home? You're a sniper Sebby." Sebastian laughed and explained.

"You're right, there wasn't anyone in my unit I was particularly close to. However, about a year ago we were under heavy fire. We had received intel that there was a hostage situation, and we had another unit as backup. We should have known it was an ambush, it was in a camera dead spot in a remote area. I was hit several times while getting one of my men to safety." Moriarty had known that Sebastian had been shot, giving him scars akin to tiger stripes. That was how he'd gotten the nickname, and now assassin moniker "Tiger" in the first place.

"My unit's medic refused to work on me, saying that there were others with a better chance of survival that he could work on. You don't argue with medics in the field, so they let him move on. The unit we were working with also had a medic. He was running to the front when he saw me bleeding out. I don't know how he could tell I was still alive because corpses surrounded me and I imagine I looked like one. But he did, and hurried over. I had severe blood loss and I tried to tell him that others needed his help more than I did. He _laughed_ and told me that they needed my help more than his. Somehow he managed to patch me up enough that I could be moved back to base. He was a damn good doctor. When we got there, he chewed out my unit's medic for not checking the severity of the wounds before moving on while he was almost elbow-deep in blood during an operation. They weren't that serious and would have healed much faster if he'd actually bothered to see if they were life-threatening. My unit's medic actually passed out after that reprimand. So when I got a call from him, I hightailed it out of London."

"The only special service you offer is assassin Sebby, why would an army doctor want you to take him out of the game?" Moriarty was still slightly perplexed. Sebastian shrugged. "He didn't tell me, but the army doesn't let go of surgeons of his caliber without good reason. A bullet through the shoulder is as good a reason you can get."

"Sebastian, what was his name?" Moriarty was considering hiring this fellow because it wasn't often that Sebastian disobeyed orders to do something. In fact, this was the first time, and to do it in such a spectacular way meant this man could be an important asset. "Captain John Watson."


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, John started plotting with Mitchell and Harrison how to run the business. They met at John's new apartment, a homely yet secure place at 221B Baker Street. The landlady was the sweetest person John had ever met, and he made a mental note to get someone trustworthy to watch over her. He had also considered getting a flatmate, but decided it was too risky. And anyway, who would want a supposedly crippled ex-army doctor as a flatmate?

"Harry started letting the little fish get out of control. We're going to have to start pulling them back in or killing them off. Do you have a list of the so-called 'new bosses'?" Mitchell sighed, and pulled out a folder. "They've started getting restless, forming new gangs and the like. It was always a hassle to keep them in line." John smiled again, and the fluffy oatmeal jumper and John's seemingly sweet demeanor fooled Mitchell for a split second. Then he reminded himself that this was the same John Watson that had tortured and killed an entire group of the Russian Mafia to send a message to their handler. Mitchell shuddered and thought to himself "People are always worried about the mean-looking ones, but they should truly worry about wolves in sheep's clothing. And there's only one I know."

John took a second to regard Mitchell out of the corner of his eye. He'd changed from the goofy-looking kid with a bowl cut to a lean, tall, man with dark brown eyes and brown hair that was cut short, but not as short as a buzzcut. He had an angular nose, and a naturally neutral expression. His freckles were still fairly prominent, making him seem younger than his 31 years. He'd always been good at reading people, and John was happy to see him after three years in the military.

Looking over at Harrison, he saw severe doubt in his stance and eyes. John didn't blame him, Harrison had joined the business while he was in Afghanistan and didn't know him. The only Watson he'd ever met was his half-drunk sister. He almost giggled when he imagined the "team building" exercises that were in order. He looked more carefully at Harrison, deciding that unless he betrayed him, (as he was obviously contemplating) he could stay.

Adam Harrison took his first good look at the new boss and almost quit right there. John Watson was a short, cuddly man who didn't look like he'd worked a day in his life. What he had been doing in the army was a mystery, and he guessed he had only been something of a secretary. The only real way to tell he'd even been in the military was the buzzcut, which was starting to grow out. He compared John Watson to himself in his mind. While Watson was only 5'6", Harrison was 6'0". Watson looked chubby under his jumper, while Harrison was thickly muscled. He went on to compare Watson's facial features to his own. Harrison had delicately built features, except his nose, which looked quite out of place. Watson looked like a puppy, cute and about as dangerous. His sister fit the title of mob boss more than he did, which was quite a feat, her being drunk all the time. Harrison decided to give Watson one try to get this right and listen to him, and if he didn't he'd kill him.

All three men shook themselves out of their thoughts when Mrs. Hudson knocked at the door. "John? I brought biscuits for you and your friends." John walked over to the door and let her in, smiling his thanks. She left to go to Tesco's promising to get him some milk because he'd been meaning to but had "run into" some old friends of his. John came back over to where they had been sitting in the main room, holding the biscuits out and shrugging. Mitchell took one, grinning. "Wow John, such a charmer. How long have you been here? A day?" Harrison laughed, relaxing. They got back to business, this time with Mrs. Hudson's biscuits cooling on the table.

John was inquiring Mitchell about the latest boundaries, and Harrison spread out a map. Mitchell thanked him and proceeded to grab a pen to mark it. "Ok, so in the south area there's an up-and-coming gang that's looking to spread its influence. Your sister had an agreement with them, but they've got a new leader now and he thinks he could take us. He's wrong of course, we know all his informants and have been giving him false information. His second-in-command though, is not to be taken lightly. She's smarter than him, and is probably gunning for the throne. We'd be able to deal with her, and you'd probably like each other. We could even help her out." John nodded thoughtfully, and Harrison spoke up. "We don't mess with other mobs, because if they get busted so do we." John laughed. "Adam,-can I call you that?" Harrison scowled. "Guess that's a no. Harrison, we don't help the whole mob. We help one person who then _rules_ the mob and keeps them out of our territory. What are the exact lines of our territory anyway?"

Mitchell sketched several lines through London. "We're mainly in the east, but we do have safehouses in the west and south. The north is run by the Spider." John looked up. "He's still around? Well I know one place we'll never send people." Harrison looked surprised. "But the north is real estate gold Watson. Why wouldn't we send people there?" John laughed. "If you're smart, you don't deal with spiders. Especially not this one. His second-in-command is the best sniper in the world last check. No, we don't mess with them. And if you do, you die. Easy as that." Still confused, and now slightly scared, Harrison asked "Why do they call him that?" John gestured to Mitchell. "What? The Spider?" Harrison nodded. "He has people everywhere. Not to make you paranoid, but I _mean_ everywhere. And no one knows his name."

The spider in question was looking through a certain Captain Watson's file. Although the title read "Deceased", Sebby had assured him Watson was alive and well. He couldn't find anything about his personal life, which was strange in and of itself, and the hospital record had been tampered with. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Moriarty had a way with computers and practice making people disappear. John Watson was an increasingly difficult puzzle, and that excited Moriarty more than his latest scheme. He sat back in his chair and changed topics to researching Mycroft Holmes.

….

At the same time in 221B, Mitchell was briefing John on the situation with the government. "Is the Iceman still gaining power?" Mitchell nodded solemnly. "By now, as near as I can figure he runs the government." John whistled, long and low. "That's pretty serious. We'd better avoid him." Once again, Harrison was lost. "Iceman? Why does everyone have nicknames and who is he?" Mitchell pulled out the file on Mycroft Holmes. "He's a genius, and he doesn't like organized crime. With the level of power he has now it'll be harder to run operations. And we can't _always_ tell who's working for enemies, so we use nicknames to keep names quiet."

John was considering Harrison. He had supposedly been Harry's right-hand-man, but he didn't know a thing about how a mob was run or any of their main competitors. He didn't bring it up though, and neatly avoided Harrison's suspicion.

Harrison was sick of being confused. He'd come here as a plant from a rival mob, poised to take over when Harry was killed, but hadn't been expecting John-blooming-Watson to pop up out of the woodwork. He hoped he hadn't been too obvious in asking so many questions but Watson seemed stupid, and Mitchell would undoubtedly side with him because of Watson's idiocy. Harrison realized how new his home mob was to this business, and was almost glad he wasn't in charge yet. Undoubtedly, he would have walked right into death at either the Spider or Iceman's hands.

Now John was almost certain Harrison was a plant, after watching him grow quiet while plans were made after all his questions. He seemed to be questioning himself, and he really needed to learn how to keep his emotions under wraps. John looked at the clock on the wall and indicated that it was probably time to wrap things up. Harrison agreed, and started gathering things up. "Harrison, would you let Mitchell do his job? He keeps all the records and things." He let go of the map that he'd been clutching like a lifeline, and nodded. Making a mental note that Mitchell was record keeper, he left 221B. Mitchell stood up to follow, and John walked with him to the front door. They watched Harrison leave, and John turned to Mitchell, grinning. "You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that Harrison isn't who he says he is." Mitchell smiled back and asked cunningly, "Whatever should we do?"


End file.
